


The Violin

by lillyhopeholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Loss, M/M, Mental Anguish, Other, Sad, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillyhopeholmes/pseuds/lillyhopeholmes
Summary: Moriarty has kidnapped John and Sherlock has to give up his beloved violin to get him back. This is a short descriptive piece about the last song he plays before giving it away. A funny bonus of why it's so important to him and why Mycroft ALWAYS has that black umbrella.





	1. The Violin

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this a few years ago on Fanfiction.net and decided to go ahead and post it here. I hope you like it as it is my favorite work that I have done so far.

Sherlock knew what he had to do. Moriarty had John and he wanted Sherlock to sell his beloved violin. Sherlock did not understand why he had to sell the violin. Well, that he understood, he just didn't see the reason behind this. Nonetheless, the detective loved his violin.

Look at me, The detective thought. Sentiment. What would Mycroft think of this? He sighed wearily as he lifted the violin to rest upon his chin for the last time. The wood seemed to sigh at his touch, the strings to call out woefully at him as he dragged the bow across them. Bach's violin sonata No. 1 in G minor filled the air, it's sorrowful melody gracing his ears one last time, swelling and fading, complicated yet simple rhythms bouncing through the air. The notes streamed like the tears blurring his vision, choking back the words that longed to be said, the wails that itched at the back of his throat, the unjustice of it all screaming at him through the gloomy cloud of the music. Reaching the Fuga., he picked up the pace, the melodies and harmonies lulling him into a false sense of what seemed to be hope clawing at his heart yet his brain refused to believe it. There was a war between his heart and his mind, the casualties bound to be catastrophic. All of the screaming pain screeched through the strings of that damn violin, screaming its own unique pain, a pain that one only feels when they've lost something dear to their heart. When he almost couldn't take it anymore, in came the Siciliano. The notes caressed his ears, soothing him as a mother would her child. He could almost believe that everything was going to be alright. Every breath now was savored, it was almost as though the music drifting through the air as invisible as the very oxygen he needed to survive suddenly was the oxygen. It filled his lungs, satisfying a deep throbbing ache in his chest. It chased away the stabbing knife that was trained on his heart. It coursed through his veins, rushing through him as swiftly as the blood that circulated through his body. It raced as his heart, warming him. The final notes dripped from the violin, cascading over ears that could no longer bear to listen, eyes that no longer could see, breath that no longer satisfied the lungs of the magnificent being that depended on it to live. As the last whisper fell from that violin, as the last tear was shed and the last ray of hope crushed, the last dying ember doused, the great detective lowered the bow as a mighty hero might lower his sword after his last battle. Sherlock gingerly laid the instrument to rest in its case as though it were a sleeping child, sparing one last glance before letting the hinges creak shut and the locks snap down viciously, reminding him that he would no longer see this wonderful object. He straightened, picking up the violin case as he went.

For John, He thought. For John, I would do anything.


	2. How it all began

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a stupid blurb about how Sherlock got his violin and Mycroft got his umbrella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just meant to be funny and lighthearted, hope you like it.

"Sherlock, Mycroft!" My father called as he came in the door.

"Coming father!" Mycroft yelled from his bedroom across the hall from mine. I was in my bathroom expiramenting with mold. "Sherlock? You coming?" Mycroft poked his head into the bathroom. "Oh do quit it, brother. Father must have something for us."

"Obviously." I said. I may as well go. I rose from my place on my knees in front of my shower, following Mycroft downstairs.

"Hello boys. How are you today?" My father asked us.

"Fine."

"Bored."

"You're always bored Sherlock." Mycroft said.

"Well, he won't be for long." My father took two wrapped packages from behind his back. One blue, the other silver. The blue one was obviously mine, the silver one was too thin and long to be anything I'd want. Unless it's a sword... but I got over the pirate thing ages ago. "Since you boys are now eleven and eighteen, I figured I'd get you something."

"What's so special about eleven and eighteen?" I asked.

"Nothing. Just wanted you to have these and the author needed to let the reader know how old you are, son." :P

"Oh. Okay. Hi reader!"

"UGH Back to the story please." Mycroft shouted.

"Fine. Here."

I was right of course. The blue package was mine. I ripped at the paper and tore open the box, as Mycroft did the same.

"A VIOLIN?! THANK YOU FATHER!"

"WHAT THE FUCK? I ALREADY HAVE AN UMBRELLA!"

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, It's my favorite so far but I'm hoping to get back into writing a little more. I'm off to college in the fall and won't have much time so I need to get it all out now. Anyway, thank you for reading and if you liked it or have any criticism or commentary go ahead and let me know. ~LHH


End file.
